


Best Intentions

by shimmersing



Series: Illuminated [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alderaan, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy, Luminous - Freeform, Luminous Legacy, OC pairings, Part Two of Series, Romance, SWTOR, Star Wars - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2020-09-07 08:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimmersing/pseuds/shimmersing
Summary: Jedi Consular Aitahea Daviin is already stretched to breaking as she seeks the last of the plagued Jedi Masters on Alderaan. When she misjudges a perilous hostage negotiation for House Organa, a familiar face comes unexpectedly to her rescue.Lieutenant Erithon Zale of Havoc Squad finds himself on unfamiliar ground among the ancient nobility of Alderaan. Even with a Jedi present, clarity is in short supply (maybe especially, given the identity of this particular Jedi). Faced with dangerous political machinations and still unsure where his heart truly lies, Erithon must prepare for an entirely new kind of combat.





	1. Prologue (Message Received)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to part two of Erithon & Ai’s love story. I am attempting ye olde 'slow burn,' but this is a pretty hefty step forward in the saga, it feels like. If you like Erithon & Aitahea's adventures, please come by my tumblr, shimmersing.tumblr.com.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aithaea & Erithon exchange messages.

_//start encryption_

_//view mail message_

_2/25 galactic locator reference: nar shaddaa 15:13 galactic standard time (coruscant)_

_key signature: v=1; a=rsa-sha256; c=secure/secure; via=deepcore; h=republic_

_content-type: multipart/alternative; text_

_x-spam-status: score=2.7_

_to: jedi aitahea daviin, consular (daviin.ai@consular.jedi.org)_

_from: lt erithon zale, havoc squad (lt.e.zale@republic.gov)_

_subject: taris follow up_

Master Jedi,

Hope everything on Taris turned out well for you. Havoc managed to get the job done and then some, thanks to you of course.

Fly safe,

Erithon Zale, Lieutenant, Havoc Squad

_//end encryption_

_//start encryption (WARNING: unsecured)_

_//view mail message_

_5/47 galactic locator reference: nar shaddaa 09:03 galactic standard time (coruscant)_

_key signature: v=167; a=ye-et-000; c=WARNING:unsecure/secure; via=hutt; h=unknown_

_content-type: multipart/alternative; text_

_x-spam-status: score=5.6_

_to: lt.e.zale@republic.gov (lt erithon zale, havoc squad)_

_from: jedi aitahea daviin, consular (daviin.ai@consular.jedi.org)_

_subject: re: taris follow up_

Lieutenant,

Congratulations on a successful mission and may the next be even more so.

I am about to arrive in Hutt controlled space; our access to communications is likely to be limited. Whatever your next destination, may the Force be with you.

Jedi Aitahea Daviin

_//end encryption_

_//start encryption_

_//view mail message_

_9/17 galactic locator reference: tatooine 19:00 galactic standard time (coruscant)_

_key signature: v=8; a=ang-lis; c=secure/secure; via=hyperspace; h=outerrim/republic_

_content-type: multipart/alternative; text_

_x-spam-status: score=3.9_

_to: jedi aitahea daviin, consular (daviin.ai@consular.jedi.org)_

_from: lt.e.zale@republic.gov (lt erithon zale, havoc squad)_

_subject: re: taris follow up_

Jedi,

Careful out there. I was just on Nar Shaddaa myself and it’s rough in spots. I mean, nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure. I have to admit that I’m a pretty curious why they’d send a Jedi to that kind of planet anyway. If you even want to say anything in a message while you’re there, security and all.

Ever been to Tatooine?

Take care,

Erithon Zale

_//end encryption_

_//start encryption_

_//view mail message_

_2/60 galactic locator reference: tatooine 11:30 galactic standard time (coruscant)_

_key signature: v=12; a=dani-r-<3; c=secure/secure; via=hyperspace; h=outerrim/republic_

_content-type: multipart/alternative; text_

_x-spam-status: score=5.6_

_to: lt.e.zale@republic.gov (lt erithon zale, havoc squad)_

_from: jedi aitahea daviin, consular (daviin.ai@consular.jedi.org)_

_subject: re: taris follow up_

Lieutenant,

I can safely say that I was in search of a scientist who may be able to aid the Jedi; he’s been safely located.

We’re away from Hutt Space now, so I feel a little more secure in our messages remaining encrypted.

Curious that you mention Tatooine, as I’m planetside now. We’re leaving for an undisclosed location presently, and its likely we’ll be out of range for some time. Please forgive me if responses are few and far between.

May the Force be with you,

Aitahea Daviin

_//end encryption_

_//start encryption_

_//view holo message_

_9/9 galactic locator reference: cts 02:43 galactic standard time (coruscant)_

_key signature: v=11; a=diego; c=secure/secure; via=hyperspace; h=midrim/spinward_

_content-type: multipart/audio-visual; holo_

_x-spam-status: score=1.9_

_to: lt.e.zale@republic.gov (lt erithon zale, havoc squad)_

_from: jedi aitahea daviin, consular (daviin.ai@consular.jedi.org)_

_subject: re: taris follow up [holo attachment]_

_PLAY HOLO_

00:00.00 [static]

00:00.09 “Hey, no joke about Tattooine, right?” [panting, laughter] “Anyway. Going to Alderaan ASAP; I’m supposed to be landing near the capital and reporting to House Organa.”

00:13.22 [silence, static]

00:15.50 “-grew up, er, uh, trained there, right? I’m not sure if you told me or I’m just making things up. Yeah. Anyway. Planning to be there at least six weeks, so if you get this before I leave… yeah. You know, send me a restaurant recommendation or something.”

00:29.62 “See you around, Jedi.”

_HOLO END_

_//end encryption_


	2. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aitahea's homecoming is interrupted.

“You’ll join us in celebrating, of course?” The Duke spread his arms in welcome. “The children will so much want to speak with you, and I’m certain you have many tales of Jedi courage to share. And your crew as well!”

Standing next to Duke Charle Organa on a palace balcony, Jedi Consular Aitahea Daviin finally relaxed enough to let go of the sigh it seemed like she’d been holding in for months. The Force plague had kept her on Tattooine for so long she’d thought she could never bear sunlight again, but the familiar comfort of the alpine breeze and docile morning light was a soothing change from Tattooine’s punishing binary system.

Despite her sunburned cheeks, Aitahea’s eyes sported sunken shadows, her already delicate features too hollow. Her crew had doubled since leaving Coruscant; Tharan Cedrax and his assistant, Holiday, had decided to join Aitahea and Qyzen on the Luminous after their work on Nar Shadda had been completed. Adjusting to new allies and personalities was taking time, as expected, but Aitahea found herself appreciating the quiet busyness on board. It distracted from the worry and strain of their mission, a burden the consular stubbornly refused to share. Locating Master Sidonie on Alderaan should mean the end of this particular search.

The consular prided herself on entering every situation with the best intentions. What she returned with each time was something a little different; with each healing, each new link to Vivicar, another barbed hook anchored in her spirit. Just a little more.

Returning to Alderaan should have been a welcome respite, but with Vivicar’s Force plague intensifying across the galaxy, she had no time to rest. The Council was counting on her established connections with House Organa, but the nobility was not all-powerful. Her contacts were sending messages and holos in circles, leading Aitahea on a wild bantha chase instead of taking her directly to the at-risk Master Sidonie. It would be nearly a day before she could even meet her first contact.

Perhaps she should take a few hours for dinner after all.

“Thank you. I’m honored to be welcome at your table, Your Grace.”

The Duke smiled magnanimously at Aitahea, who suddenly felt a very great deal younger than she had a moment ago. “Good. We'll eat and drink and strategize and show the world we still have hope.”

Aitahea nodded wistfully. Hope.

As a youngling, coming to Alderaan after the chaos of the Sacking of Coruscant had been a privilege and a blessing. Her time here as an initiate had been filled not only with growth and change, but also a substantial and comforting structure that Aitahea had excelled within. The alpine valleys had swiftly earned her affection in place of the urban landscape of Coruscant, and she had felt welcomed and cherished in House Organa.

The formality of the royal houses, the pomp and circumstance of court, and the composed, powerful women of Alderaan had inspired Aitahea so much that she’d begun wearing her hair in the same manner, braids wound into a bright but less elaborate coronet. The struggle of maintaining both public and private lives in the face of Alderaan’s seemingly endless brawl for rule had seemed a magical dance that they completed with admirable grace, and Aitahea had watched them eagerly, nurturing a love for peaceful diplomacy.

She’d found a strangely familiar family in the Duke and Duchess, as well as in their children. The handful of other Jedi younglings that she’d joined in the enclave had welcomed and accepted her, but they had never quite become the family that her first clan had been. Nor her biological family, still residing on Coruscant. With the vastness of space now between them instead of just a quick speeder ride, her unique attachment to her parents and younger sister had languished.

She had also loved the stolen moments of silliness that had let her feel like an ordinary child, without the looming responsibilities of a swiftly growing initiate, without the memories of terror and fear that no child should have. The time she and the other younglings of the Jedi Enclave had snuck into a private revel and filched several bottles of wine that none of them had been brave enough to taste. Even her first kiss, hiding in an alcove during the very same thievery incident, in these very halls.

Lost in thought, Aitahea startled a little when the Duke tucked a few loose strands of hair back behind her ear, the motion gentle and paternal. “Child, what troubles you?”

The Duke’s concern enveloped her, even without the use of her empathic senses. She blinked back a sudden stinging in her eyes. “So many things, Your Grace, I scarcely know where I would even begin.” She turned, offering a sentimental smile. “But at the moment I was only recalling the fond memories I made here.”

“You are always welcome on–”

Aitahea turned as the sound of rapid footfalls came into hearing, alerted by the sudden urgent presence. Haley Organa, barely more than a boy when Aitahea had left for Tython, sprinted down the hallway to where Duke Organa and the Jedi stood. He slowed, taking a few deep breaths before speaking, brow creasing a little when he caught sight of Aitahea’s face.

“My lord? There's a call coming in on your secure channel.”

“Thank you, Haley.” He shifted slightly to include the now wholly composed Jedi. “You may remember Aitahea Daviin, now a full Jedi of the Order, formerly a member of our own enclave.”

Recognition flickered in the younger man’s eyes, followed by an efficient bow. “Master Jedi, welcome back to Alderaan.”

“Pleased to see you again, Haley. Let’s not delay.” Aitahea wondered as they turned to follow Haley if the command room was where she remembered.

As they walked, Duke Organa provided Aitahea with some of the more sensitive details about the strife between the noble houses, how the aggressions had accelerated in recent days, even prompting the involvement of the Republic military in an official capacity. The escalations hadn’t escaped Aitahea’s notice even while she continued on her own missions; Erithon’s messages had kept her apprised of information she might not otherwise have been party to.

Neither of them had been foolish enough to risk sensitive data in their communications, but Aitahea had a reasonable amount of faith that the Jedi Order’s slicers could keep her missives secure, and either way it was _him_. She’d been more disappointed than she would admit when they kept missing key starports by days, even hours once, ships literally passing in the unreal night of hyperspace. What she found herself most irked with at the moment was an unviewed holo practically burning a hole in her comm, but Aitahea hadn’t had a moment to herself since they’d arrived. It would be nice to hear his voice. To be fair she’d sneaked a peek at his service record just once a few weeks ago, curious when his birthdate was, purely for debriefing reasons and she hadn’t known his service holo was included in the file so that had been a nice surprise…

Haley was ushering them into the command room when Duke Organa paused to gaze closely at Aitahea, who found herself with her hands at her temples, disoriented. “Master Jedi? Aitahea?”

“Oh,” she gasped, lashes fluttering. “Forgive me, it’s nothing.” The Jedi shook her head, refocusing – if only there had been time for a moment of rest.

The Duke pressed a hand under Aitahea’s elbow, regret creasing his brow as he led her into the room. “I’m sorry that this will likely add to your burden. Introductions proper will have to wait. Master Aitahea; General Kashim.”

Aitahea nodded to the Mon Cal. “General, may the Force be with us.”

“Indeed,” he replied before turning back to the Duke. “Your Grace, by your leave.”

Charle Organa narrowed his eyes as the holocamera whirred. “Put it through, General.”

Aitahea found her fingers brushing against her lightsaber hilt and quickly clasped her hands at her waist, pulling in a steadying breath.

The holo flickered to life; the being’s size ridiculously exaggerated, it dominated the holotable, wildly disproportionate to the beings in the room. A human smirked down at the Duke and his advisors, a misplaced and blustering bravado coating his words. He spoke; “It's been a long time, my lord Duke. Who is your friend?”

Organa waved his hand impatiently. “If she should wish to speak to the Wolf Baron of House Thul, she’ll do so herself.” The Duke tilted his head and the holocamera swiveled.

Aitahea took a step forward, her demeanor vulnerable and gently diplomatic as she opened her hands beseechingly. “Baron Thul, my name is Aitahea Daviin, a Jedi Consular and friend to House Organa. Your Lordship, I’m told you ordered the land bombed and the turrets captured.”

Thul sneered, tossing his head back, but his gaze was still calculating. He answered leisurely. “I did, yes. Your Republic friends may have retaken the Spears of Organa, but they served my purpose – scattering your people and sending them straight into my hands.”

Aitahea struggled to hide a sharp swell of apprehension; she knew Organa had involved some military resources in returning the Spears into the right hands, yet this was the first mention from someone other than Organa himself. This in addition to the wild rumors of Sith on the ground in the highlands. It seemed like madness.

Organa drew himself up and glared at the holocamera. “What are you saying, Baron?”

The Wolf Baron scowled impatiently. “I’m saying that House Thul has taken three hundred Organa citizens captive.” The man’s lips twisted viciously as he savored their shock. “I thought you’d want to know.”

The Duke reeled back a step, and General Kashim gripped the edge of the holoprojector. After a breath, Aitahea lifted her eyes to the hologram again, her words low and measured. “Make your demands, Your Lordship. We’re listening.”

“Talk, Baron, before my patience runs out!” Organa snapped furiously. Aitahea remained still as a frozen pond, attention fixed on the holo while she flooded the Force around them with subtle patience.

Thul took his time smoothing his hands over his tunic before peevishly clearing his throat, all while Organa fumed and the Jedi waited with seemingly boundless tranquility. “I’d like to meet in person to civilly discuss the fate of my prisoners.” Organa bit back a snarl, while Aitahea stiffened at the words ‘my prisoners’. “I’m sending a time and coordinates now.

“In the meantime, your people will be treated well.” The Baron leaned back, hooking his thumbs into his belt as though he’d just pronounced some magnanimous gift, but a vicious glint remained in his eyes. “The incident with your son-in-law will not be repeated.”

The line went dead.

Aitahea’s practiced façade faltered as she tried to unravel the Baron’s final words. “With your… Your Grace, what does he mean?”

Organa stared at his clenched fist, unhearing. “Damn him! Damn his eyes!”

Kashim folded his arms. “I suggest you remain calm. This is the Wolf Baron’s trap.”

Organa rounded on his general, venting his frustration. “I’m not a fool! But a ruler who can’t protect his people is no ruler at all.” The Duke shook his head, squared his shoulders and inhaled deeply. Aitahea felt a twinge of irritation; the influences she had attempted to weave into the pattern of the Force were fading all too rapidly under Organa’s emotive tirade. “I have to go.”

“No, Your Grace.” Aitahea lifted her chin, an elegant motion filled with quiet confidence. “Allow me to handle the Wolf Baron.”

Organa turned to the Jedi, worry clear in his eyes. “My dear, I cannot place you at risk.”

“Your Grace, before I ever stepped foot on Tython, my training here prepared me for ordeals just like this. Your household equipped me for this very moment. The very least I can do is protect the house that so generously sheltered me when I was young.”

The Duke’s face softened. “My dear Aitahea – _Master_ Aitahea – you are among Alderaan’s bravest daughters, and our best hope. You will not go alone.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. We will rescue your people. The Force is with us.”

“Lead the way, and I will follow. Sweep aside the Wolf Baron’s Black Guard, his assassins. He wants to meet? Let us meet on even terms.”

Kashim nodded severely. “House Thul will be massing its forces. I will prepare our troops while you confront the Wolf Baron.”

“Thank you, General. And Aitahea, I wish this were under better circumstances, but…” The duke straightened proudly and gave her a level stare. “I pronounce you a paladin of House Organa, my beacon in the dark.”

Aitahea felt something flutter in her chest and pursed her lips at the phrase before nodding her acceptance. “It is an honor, Your Grace.” Swept up in the solemnity of the moment, she dropped into a low curtsey, more elaborate and demonstrative than her usual motion of hand to heart, drawn directly from the customs of the court.

“Master Jedi.” Organa leaned forward to take Aitahea’s trembling hands and drew her back to her feet with an encouraging smile. “It is your valor I salute. Your word I believe. Clear the path, my friend, and let us look evil in the eye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Taraum and the Thot Patrol for beta reading!


	3. On Your Conscience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erithon gets another job; Aitahea makes a mistake.

When Erithon Zale and the rest of Havoc arrived to find Organa Castle in an uproar, it didn’t come as a surprise. What _was_ unexpected was that the hubbub was in fact _not_ in response to their arrival, the conquering heroes who’d reclaimed the Spears of Organa. The news had preceded them, but the feeling around them was one of panic, not celebration. General Kashim spared them a glance as they were escorted into the command room.

“Lieutenant, you’re not too late.”

“Sir?” Erithon snapped a quick salute that was echoed by Jorgan and Dorne, swallowing the frown that was tugging at his lips. _I’ve got a bad feeling about this_.

“The reports of your victory at the Spears are welcome, but the briefing will have to wait. We have another pressing concern. Thul has seized hundreds of Organa citizens as hostages. The duke and his diplomat were to meet with the Wolf Baron, but something’s gone wrong. We just received a report from Duke Organa. The diplomat was exchanged for the hostages. We’re preparing to stage a rescue.”

“A diplomat? Who did-” Erithon paused as the holo began chiming, and Kashim swiftly opened the channel.

It was Duke Organa himself, looking furious and harried. “Kashim! The negotiations were a trap, blackmail!”

Kashim nodded stiffly. “Your Grace, Havoc Squad has returned from securing the Spears of Organa.” The general adjusted the focus of the holocam to Havoc Squad, and Organa’s strained expression eased.

“Lieutenant! We are indebted to you for your actions in returning control of the Spears to House Organa. My grandfather would be proud.” The signal flickered, and Kashim reached to adjust the controls. “We need your aid once again.”

Erithon fought to keep his expression stern. Nobles could be a _little_ dramatic. “Havoc is at your service, Duke Organa.”

“The trap was… diplomat alone-” Organa continued to speak while the holo continued to shudder and crackle. “-aken in trade for our people. We will not leave her behind. General Kashim has… location-” The failing signal cut off any further instructions, but a glance at Jorgan and Dorne told Erithon everything he needed to know.

“General, give me the coordinates, and we’ll move out.”

Kashim tapped a few commands into the console and after a moment Erithon’s own datapad chimed, displaying a warehouse situated in the nearby farmlands.

“Excellent location for an ambush,” Jorgan muttered over the lieutenant’s shoulder. Dorne’s response was more measured, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Sir, if there are civilians involved, we are certainly within our capacity to aid the Duke once again.”

Erithon skimmed the attached report, wondering aloud. “Who was the diplomat involved? Someone from the Republic?”

“A Jedi, an old friend of the Duke. House Organa has close ties with the Order, even an enclave,” Kashim replied, nodding toward a robed, restless teenager standing outside the room, holding a stack of datapads. A training saber peeked out from behind one shoulder.

_She said… it was supposed to be… damn._ Erithon shook his head. It was stupid to assume every Jedi out there was Aitahea; there were thousands, right? He didn’t know if his last message had even gotten to her; the quickly recorded holo hadn’t received a reply yet when he’d last checked. Even if that was just a few minutes ago while they wound through the expanse of Organa Castle.

The soldier pulled his datapad in a little tighter, about to check just once more… Maybe a message had come in the last few minutes… Unless it really was… _Nah._

Erithon cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Back into the fray it is. Let’s move out, Havoc.”

* * *

Aitahea Daviin strode purposefully into the warehouse, Qyzen Fess close behind. The Trandoshan muttered uneasily at her shoulder, almost too softly for the Jedi to discern his exact words.

“Herald, this place…”

“I sense them too. The Blackguard.”

“Come, then, more offerings for Scorekeeper.”

Aitahea nodded, still uncertain about her strange role as religious figure, but sure of the approach of the handful of Thul assassins who rose from the shadows of the warehouse with hostile intent.

“This was not agreement,” Qyzen hissed, his voice quickly drowned by the sharp sound of Aitahea’s lightsaber igniting, the bright glare revealing a vicious challenge in the guards’ eyes as they closed around the two.

“No, it is not,” Aitahea replied evenly. “Brace yourself, Qyzen.”

The Blackguard were clearly enjoying the opportunity to hone their skills against a Jedi warrior, but Aitahea did not plan on simply leaving them to their entertainment. She began with a wave that swept half of the attackers off their feet, then whirled around to set the ground shaking beneath the feet of the others that faced Qyzen. On Alderaan, where so much of her growth and training had taken place, the Force felt like an old friend, ready and willing to lend her strength, and she leaned deeply into the sensation. The ambush, on the other hand, deteriorated spectacularly as the Blackguard struggled and failed, one by one, to rise to their feet. Satisfied, Aitahea deactivated her lightsaber and looked toward the human man slowly descending the warehouse stairs.

The Wolf Baron laughed while his applause echoed through the warehouse. “Impressive. The chance to see a Jedi in action… well, it makes this whole war seem worthwhile.” The baron strode confidently into the center of the room. His prideful aura was unmistakable; he had every confidence that he had the upper hand in the situation, that perhaps the tables had even – finally - turned in his favor.

Aitahea remained still as he circled, following his steps with her eyes. “My name is Aitahea Daviin. I stand before you as a Jedi and representative of House Organa. I am here to negotiate the safe release of the Organa people you hold captive.” The Jedi pushed her awareness deeper into the Force, but the baron’s pronounced overconfidence failed to give away any secrets.

The Baron gave her an appreciative look. “Well met, Master Jedi. I am Baron Jharkus Thul – better known as the Wolf Baron.” He gave a mocking half bow, glancing past her toward the entrance. “Is the duke on his way, or did the old man send you in his place?”

“The duke follows close behind,” she replied steadily, despite the Baron’s lack of decorum and her own growing sense of peril. “I request evidence of the hostages’ safety, my lord, before we proceed.”

“Excellent. Heronus? Show the Jedi what she asks.”

Thul lingered at her shoulder, Aitahea fighting the rising unease that crept up her spine as his henchman opened a holochannel on a nearby access point. The flickering hologram resolved into a handful of haggard subjects, one young man at the front.

“My name is Brant Sonn. I am an eighth-generation subject of House Organa. My family, along with many others, was captured by House Thul.” The holo showed Brant swallowing hard before continuing. “They’re treating us… well.”

Aitahea was about to voice her growing concern when a commotion made them all turn toward the entrance. Charle Organa came striding into the hangar, fury in his eyes.

“Baron!” Organa roared as he approached. Aitahea moved swiftly to intercept him, but the Duke only shrugged off her hands. “What’ve you done with my people?”

Thul sneered. “Keep your duke on a leash, please. The prisoners are in a very precarious situation.” At this, Organa began to reach for the baron, but Aitahea caught his arm, alarmed at his wrath. She offered an almost imperceptible shake of her head, eyes beseeching.

“Your Lordship, let us discuss the peaceful release of the hostages. Your Grace?” she said quickly, all courtesy and aplomb, glancing between the two men while silently weaving a tapestry of peace and patience around them.

Baron Thul looked down at the Jedi haughtily, ignoring the livid Duke. “I have three hundred forty-eight prisoners.” A dark gleam filled his eyes. “I am willing to make a trade.”

The Force was suddenly thick with treachery, and Aitahea fought to steady her breathing through the suffocating sensation. Something was not right here. Unaware of her struggle, Charle lifted his hands in desperation. “I’ll do it, Thul. House Organa will not fall, with or without me.” Aitahea began to shush him, but the Baron’s harsh laughter interrupted them.

“Ha!” he howled. “You misunderstand, Your Grace. I want your Jedi.” Aitahea startled at the sudden shift. “She will become my prisoner in exchange for the hostages.”

“What? Utterly ridiculous! I won’t-”

Thul cut him off with a sharp motion. “She is more useful to House Organa than you, Your Grace.” He chuckled, smug and sure. “With your Jedi out of commission, the next battle will be easily won. What say you, my dear?” Aitahea pulled in a sharp breath, alarmed. “You can rest happily in our jails until the Republic ransoms you back, or you can have three hundred deaths on your conscience.” He extended a hand as if offering her a dance. Her skin crawled at the look in his eyes.

This was no choice. A single life for more than three hundred was a generous offer, but the baron’s plan to attack once she was in custody could certainly turn the war effort against Organa and the Republic. Soldiers or civilians, one way or another, would be lost. It was no choice at all.

“You have my cooperation, my lord,” Aitahea replied solemnly, drawing away from Duke Organa. A bereft look marred his dignified features. “Release the hostages, along with my crew and the Duke.” She gave Qyzen a grim smile, unable to read his expression, but accepting his curt nod with relief. “I’ll submit peacefully.”

The Wolf Baron brayed in triumph, but the Jedi ignored his open hand, instead offering only a slight bow, little more than a nod. Baron Thul’s expression faded from jubilant to bemused, settling finally on red-faced rage.

“Aitahea,” the duke called, low and dangerous. “You will not be forgotten. I swear it.” Aitahea offered her friend a sincere obeisance before she was flanked by the remaining Thul guards. Qyzen grasped Organa’s shoulder and began leading the duke out of the warehouse, casting wary glances over a shoulder.

The baron clenched his still open hand into a trembling fist, and Aitahea worried for a moment that she’d severely miscalculated. Thul glared at her, lips twisted into a livid sneer, before flinging his hand toward her dismissively. “Use the gas. Keep her incapacitated until the transport is ready.”

“Wait!” she cried, straining against the hands that clamped around her arms. “You already have my surrend-” The mask that slammed over her face heralded a bitter odor, followed swiftly by darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Taraum and the Thot Patrol for beta reading!


	4. In My Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erithon is a little late.

“I feel like we keep arriving late to the party,” Erithon said dryly to Jorgan and Dorne as they entered the Thul warehouse uncontested.

A young man dressed in Organa colors ordered a group of beaten, grumbling Thul guards into a makeshift holding cell at the back of the building. The same guards that Erithon and the rest of Havoc Squad had expected to be battling themselves, but apparently someone had beaten them to the punch… literally.

The man tapped a code into the keypad with relish, and the forcefield lit up the doorway, sealing the indignant guards inside. He grinned and turned to Erithon, rushing over with a look of awe. “You’re with the Republic?”

“Havoc Squad. You’re with House Organa?”

“Brant Sonn, sir,” he replied with a bow.

_Definitely from here_, Erithon thought. “Wait…” Erithon frowned at the young man, recalling the briefing. “Brant Sonn? One of the hostages?”

“Yes!” He answered with a shade too much enthusiasm, pausing to compose the rest of his answer thoughtfully. “The Wolf Baron freed us when the diplomat turned herself in. We came for her as soon as we’d heard what happened. We couldn’t allow a friend of our house to remain under Thul’s hold, not after she sacrificed herself for us.”

“Was anyone hurt? I mean, besides…” Erithon nodded toward the bruised Thul guards, ensconced safely behind the forcefield.

Brant grinned. “No, sir, but the diplomat was sedated, we think. She’s a Jedi, so we-”

Erithon grasped the other man’s shoulder. “The Jedi. Where is she?”

“There, with the Duke, still in the other cell.” Brant pointed toward the other storage area where Charle Organa paced restlessly behind a slicer working at unlocking the forcefield. Beyond the crackling barrier, Erithon could just make out a human form.

“Thanks. Jorgan, see if there’s anything else we can do for Brant here. Dorne, with me.” He clapped Brant gratefully on the shoulder before turning toward the duke.

Organa looked up as they approached, his surprise lasting only a moment before being replaced by relief and gratitude. “Lieutenant! Please, tell me you’ve brought medical supplies.”

“Yes, sir,” Erithon answered, just as the slicer made one final adjustment. The glowing shield dropped, allowing Erithon, Elara, and Duke Organa to finally reach the unconscious occupant.

The prone figure was swathed in neutral shades, and a glimpse of dusky blonde hair peeked out from under the familiar hood. _No, no, this isn’t what I meant when I-_

The sickening lurch in his stomach almost sent Erithon to the dusty floor of the warehouse.

_Aitahea_.

“What in blazes happened?” Erithon demanded as he rushed to her side and yanked off his gloves. Elara dropped to the floor beside them, digging through her kit.

Duke Organa scowled furiously while he hovered. “They drugged her. Some kind of gas. Barbarians. Can you wake her?”

It looked like she’d been tossed unceremoniously over a shipping container after the drug had taken effect; the very thought set Erithon’s teeth grinding. He scooped the unconscious Jedi into a sitting position, pushing her hood back and shifting gently to let her head rest on his armored shoulder. She was white as the snow outside, lashes stark black against hollow cheeks. Biting back a particularly vicious curse, he pressed his fingers to her neck and exhaled sharply when he found a steady pulse. Elara Dorne finished her search and pulled out a handful of stims, efficiently scanning the labels before passing one to the waiting lieutenant.

“Antidote for general sedatives, sir.”

Erithon wasted no time in pressing the stim to Aitahea’s throat, watching anxiously as the medication worked its way into her system. He let the empty cartridge fall away, cradling her cheek in one hand as he waited for a response. “Come on, Jedi.”

The trooper held his breath while she stirred. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened, green eyes clouded as she focused on his face.

“Oh. Lieutenant.” A slow blink drew her eyes closed for a long moment before opening again to reveal a dreamy smile. “I was just thinking of you.”

He broke into a wide grin, elated and undeniably pleased. “If we keep meeting like this, Master Jedi, I might start getting ideas.” He closed his arms around her, unable to hide the deep sigh of relief that rushed out. “How is it you end up in my arms every time we meet?”

She gave a soft laugh, for a fleeting moment nothing more than a pretty girl amused by his witty banter. She lifted a hand and tapped gently on his chest plate. “I received your message, but I haven’t had a chance to watch it.”

Now it was his turn to laugh, only to be interrupted by the understated sound of Elara clearing her throat. Erithon started, realizing he still had Aitahea cradled close, his thumb idly brushing the curve of her cheek. Erithon spared a glance toward Duke Organa, who had watched their reunion unfold with a charmed expression. Erithon self-consciously dropped his hand from Aitahea’s face and hastened to help her sit upright while Elara thoughtfully offered the Jedi water. Aitahea gave the other woman a grateful smile, then looked toward Duke Organa.

“Your Grace. Are the hostages safe?”

“Indeed, and once free they immediately came to your aid.”

Aitahea blinked, brow knitting. “They came… for me?”

“Without hesitation.”

Aitahea nodded solemnly, thoughts elsewhere for a beat before finally lifting the container of water to her lips with trembling hands. Erithon hovered protectively at her side, frowning when he realized her already-slight form was thinner than on Taris. It had been months, of course, but… what had happened since then?

Elara leaned closer, peering carefully at Aitahea. “Master Jedi, I’m Sergeant Elara Dorne.” The sergeant glanced briefly at Erithon before continuing her queries. “How do you feel? Any pain or discomfort?”

“Woozy, Sergeant, but I expect that’s normal, thank you. A vast improvement from a few minutes ago. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Lieutenant,” Aitahea turned back to Erithon, eyes clearer than they’d been moments ago, color returning to her cheeks. “What _are_ you doing here?”

“We’re the cavalry, of course.” Erithon jerked a thumb back over one shoulder. “Been helping the Duke out with his troublesome neighbors. We were supposed to rescue some diplomat,” he intoned, playing at charming nonchalance. Aitahea’s lips curled in a smile again. “But it seems the folks you helped felt they needed to return the favor first. We just brought the medkit.”

“Oh!” Aitahea marveled, eyes aglow, as she pieced together the last few hours. “It was you who took back the Spears!”

“Guilty as charged, Master Jedi,” Erithon replied, basking in her attention. She’d been in his thoughts so often. He’d found himself scanning through his messages for her name every time he’d had a reasonable signal. There’d been no more dreams of her since Taris – at least not of them as children again, anyway – and this wasn’t the exact reunion he’d hoped for, but having her whole and close was better than he could have asked, even under these unusual circumstances.

Then again, this was starting to look more like the norm for them.

“It seems you two know each other.” Organa’s eyes danced, amusement lightening his knowing tone.

Aitahea’s eyes flickered from the duke to Erithon and back, her smile shy but bright. “On Taris, Your Grace, we retrieved impossibly valuable data from the wreck of an old starship. The mission was a great success.”

“I beg your pardon, Master Jedi, but I think it’s advisable that you see a medic once we’ve returned to Organa Castle,” Elara said, gathering up the few items she’d removed from her pack. “Otherwise your condition seems to be improving rapidly.”

Aitahea nodded, her attention shifting past the sergeant to where Qyzen Fess and Aric Jorgan approached, led by Brant Sonn. “Good. Because I don’t think we’re finished here.”

Erithon observed the scowl on Jorgan’s face before turning back to Aitahea, rising slowly but steadily. “Are you sure you’re up for that? You were out cold just a few minutes ago.”

“Whatever your companion administered is working quickly, and I have the Force with me, as always. All will be well.” Aitahea studied him, and he couldn’t help shuffling sheepishly under her reserved scrutiny. “I am… so pleased to see you, Lieutenant.”

He shrugged casually, but a gratifying warmth had settled quite firmly in his chest. “Erithon is fine, you know, if it’s okay with you.”

Her lips parted, the shade of a smile appearing before she looked toward their waiting allies.

“We have a problem,” Jorgan said. “The Thul army is on the march again. General?” He lifted a holocomm, the bluish projection brightening the dark corner of the warehouse as General Kashim appeared.

“It is good to see you alive. Matters are moving quickly, and House Organa is in dire need of reinforcement.”

“What can we do to help?” Aitahea asked, steadying herself with a hand on Erithon’s arm. He found himself biting his lip to avoid interrupting the Jedi with an admonishment for offering her assistance, knowing full well – after a moment of careful consideration – that she knew her boundaries better than he would. As much as he wanted her out of harm’s way, that wasn’t in the cards for either of them.

“The Empire has sent several Sith apprentices to support the Thul army. Organa soldiers are proving no match.”

Those gathered murmured their concern, but Aitahea looked positively alarmed. “Sith, even apprentices, are not to be trifled with.”

“We’re used to fighting blasters,” Brant Sonn added with a deep frown. “Not the Force.”

Kashim continued over the holo. “So long as the Sith are in place, we cannot win this battle. You must make a full assault on their war camps immediately.”

Aitahea dropped her head, resignation darkening her words. “It seems peace must wait.”

“This is the greatest challenge House Organa has faced. If we win, Thul will be repelled, and we can go on the offensive.”

“Aitahea, I can hardly ask you to risk yourself once again, but it seems I have no choice,” Charle Organa added, shaking his head in disbelief. “If we lose, House Organa will be forced into exile.”

Aitahea drew a sharp breath at his admission, fingers tightening on Erithon’s armored wrist. “Your Grace, I will not allow that to happen.”

Organa smiled tightly. “I expected nothing less from a paladin of my house. And you have strong, courageous allies.” The duke nodded at Erithon, who returned a practiced salute.

“May the Force be with you,” General Kashim added as his final word, and the comm went dark.

The Jedi lifted her eyes to Erithon’s again, clear and determined. “We have work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Taraum and the Thot Patrol (R in particular, noogies) for beta reading!


	5. Trajectory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aitahea & Erithon make plans.

Aitahea watched, silent, as Brant Sonn ripped the Thul banner down from its place outside the warehouse, tossing the fabric aside and hoisting aloft the blue and gold of House Organa. The adjacent farmlands were clear of their enemies, and she hoped the families that tended them would soon be able to return, to have lives again peaceful and orderly.

The Thul warehouse had quickly become a staging area for the merged Organa and Republic forces once Aitahea’s rescue had been completed. A painstaking search of the building had revealed no trace of the Wolf Baron or his Blackguard, leaving them with only the low-ranking guards who’d been Aitahea’s unfortunate jailers. They would be sitting tight while prisoner exchanges were arranged and negotiations finalized.

The strike team that Aitahea and Erithon had agreed to lead had opted to wait until the following day to advance on the Thul and Sith forces. Qyzen Fess and Aric Jorgan had volunteered to scout the Sith camp, their experience making them ideal for the initial part of this new mission. Elara Dorne had efficiently organized the Organa subjects into something that suggested typical rank and file.

Aitahea found herself surprisingly grateful to be ensconced in the same warehouse in which she’d been held prisoner, working alongside Erithon as they organized the next morning’s attack. Though they’d barely had a moment to speak other than in communication about the impending battle, just being near him seemed to ease her spirits. It went without saying that his presence was making the wait and the work that much more pleasant, delighted as she was to see him.

Her abbreviated captivity hadn’t left her any worse for wear; she couldn’t help but entertain the morbid thought that she probably hadn’t had as significant a rest as those few hours of forced unconsciousness in weeks. Nevertheless, Elara continued to regularly check in with her, and Erithon remained within arm’s reach.

Erithon. She had known, even in the depths of her stupor, the Force still a guiding path for her unconscious mind, that she was safe and would eventually be rescued. But waking to that particular set of blue eyes? A dream come true.

“Jedi?” He appeared at her shoulder again, real and warm and safe; Aitahea swallowed hard and tried to calm her escalating heartbeat.

“Yes,” she answered, scanning his face again. _Again_.

She was _looking_ at him too much. Someone was going to notice. Someone _else_, since the duke and the sergeant had obviously already witnessed her absolute nonsense upon awakening from the drug-induced sleep. What had she said? _I was just thinking of you?_ She wanted to simply blame it on the drugs, but when he’d pulled her in close, what he’d said… _How is it you end up in my arms every time we meet?_

All she had managed at that singular moment had been a giggle. Honestly. _Honestly_.

“We’re close to done here, if you want to take a break. You’ve been going nonstop since you woke up.” He was trying to smile at her, but a crease kept appearing between his brows. Even had she not been a Jedi, his worry would have been palpable.

“Thank you, I think you’re right. Today has been… remarkable, to say the least. Like this, since before I arrived.” She waved a hand at the bustling warehouse before offering a rueful smile. “I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to see your holo. It’s just been…”

Erithon chuckled. “It wasn’t urgent, I mean. I just wanted you to know I was on the way here. Worked out after all.”

“It has indeed.” She folded and refolded her hands, eyes flickering to where Elara Dorne gave a small squad some cursory training drills. “Your team has grown since Taris.”

“Yeah, Sergeant Dorne is great. She joined us on Taris, actually.”

“Her accent…”

“Yup. She was an Imperial citizen. Didn’t like how they did business on the other side, so she joined us.”

“That’s incredible.”

He shuffled, distracted for a moment by some sheets of loose flimsy that shifted when he tried leaning against a table. “So, this is where you grew up, right?”

She smiled, delighted. “You remembered.” Much to her continued wonder, he blushed and stammered over the next few words.

“Hard to forget.” He paused, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath before continuing in a rush. “Well, we’ve sort of been on this, uh, trajectory, right? I mean we practically flew into each other over Nar Shaddaa.” He quieted and stepped closer, something wistful on his face. “Looking at the same stars over and over again.”

The rest of the room seemed to hush along with him, but even so, Aitahea could barely hear anything over her madly rushing pulse. _Stars_. She had a sudden wild urge to embrace him, just absolutely throw herself into his arms. _I must still be suffering the effects of that gas. What am I doing? _She promptly quashed the superfluous impulse, instead holding up her datapad.

“You said we’re finished for now? Let’s…” she trailed off, looking around the room for another suitable distraction. “Have a look outside? I’m sure the sergeant would agree to a quick lap around the perimeter, just to-” _By the Force, did you just ask him to go on a walk with you? _“-see how our allies are faring?” She finished in a rush, looking somewhat desperately for a charging dock for the datapad she still held.

He chuckled again, plucking the instrument from her hands and setting it aside. “I think they’ll be fine. But you seem to need it, so let’s get out of here.” She inclined her head gratefully as he gave her the lead and wasted no time in heading for the warehouse exit.

Aitahea blinked as they walked out into bright sunlight, raising a hand to shade her eyes. The farmland they’d be crossing tomorrow was lush, already planted with crops that she hoped would survive the battle. A farm vehicle still smoked among some of the scorched plants, but the Jedi felt certain that their team wouldn’t allow any more harm to come to the farmlands or its people.

Erithon fell into step next to her and angled their path toward the coast. They walked in companionable silence until they reached the rocks that marked the edge of the coastline, heedless of the light snow that had gathered in the shade of the evergreens. The sea churned against the rocks, calm but still very, very far below.

“What a view. Come on.” Erithon broke the silence, clambering onto a boulder and turning to offer her a hand. “Aren’t scared of heights, are you, Jedi?”

Aitahea laughed, recalling with some amusement when he’d pulled her to the edge of a much smaller, much nastier body of water on Taris, and reached to take the proffered hand. “I am not, fortunately. But I must admit that thranta is one of my least favorite forms of transportation.” She nodded toward a nearby platform where a few nests were visible.

“Those big bird things? Yeah, no thanks. I’ll take a speeder.” He pulled her close, sliding his free arm protectively around her waist until she had her footing.

Aitahea took a long breath, fighting the urge to look anywhere but his eyes, earnest and warm and still a little worried. _Oh, I missed you_, she thought and swallowed hard to keep the words to herself. They were well back from the edge of the sheer rock face, but she couldn’t help feeling a little bereft when he released her and dropped his hands back to his sides.

She turned away from the coastline, looking back toward the battered towers of Organa Castle. “Tell me about how you regained the Spears of Organa. The Duke only gave me a brief outline, but he wasn’t able share any details.”

Erithon grinned at her. “It wasn’t what we expected to be doing as soon as we were dirtside, that’s for sure.” He straightened, squinting at the surrounding landscape for some point of reference. “Haley Organa caught us at the spaceport, desperate as anything, asking us to disarm some baradium bombs. That was the first we saw of these Thul clowns.” He pulled a face, like he’d gotten a whiff of something foul-smelling. “Didn’t like their tactics at all. They fought dirty, set up ambushes all around those turrets. Took all three of us, if I’m being honest.” Any bashfulness he’d displayed since their reunion fell away as he spoke of his companions, giving way to a steadfast and proud commander. “Havoc’s becoming a good team.”

The Jedi had seen more than a few Republic military recruitment posters in her travels, but they paled in comparison to Erithon standing before her now, dashing and capable. Her fingers quivered as she reached out, but she placed her hand on his arm anyway. “They have a good leader.”

He gazed down at her, pensive for a moment before he broke into one of his now-familiar lopsided grins. “Just doing my job, Master Jedi.”

“You…” Aitahea pressed her lips together and swallowed hard, considering her hand on his arm before she lifted her eyes to his again. “Please, call me Aitahea, won’t you?”

“Of- of course. Aitahea,” he stammered in reply, and it was like hearing it for the first time. He hesitated for a beat before placing his own hand over hers, fingertips cool against her flushed skin.

Her breath caught in her throat, chased by a feeling like falling. Like gravity failing. Suspended and unsure how to move, what to reach out for._ Oh stars._

“Lieutenant?”

Both their heads swung hastily toward the unexpected voice. Aitahea slipped her hand back to her side as surreptitiously as possible and willed her burning cheeks to cool. Aric Jorgan and Qyzen Fess approached, looking none the worse for wear, returning from their scouting mission. Jorgan saluted efficiently, while Qyzen remained unreadable as usual.

“Ready to debrief, sir. We’ve got footage to show you in the warehouse.” He nodded to Aitahea. “Master Jedi, we’ll need your assessment in particular, I think.”

“Many Sith,” Qyzen rumbled. “Soft things, but dangerous still.”

“Never a dull moment,” Erithon drawled, giving a perfunctory shrug. “Guess we better get back to work, huh?”

Aitahea nodded solemnly, tucking away the lingering feeling of loss that had lodged in her chest. “Indeed. Let’s head back.”

“Herald, a word,” Qyzen said, and Aitahea tilted her head.

“Of course, Qyzen.” She nodded to the Trandoshan, then to Erithon and Jorgan as they looked at her expectantly. “We’ll catch up shortly.” The Cathar shrugged, and Erithon gave her a smile and a wave as they turned back toward the warehouse.

She watched until they were out of hearing range, then turned to see Qyzen uncharacteristically fretting, a divergence from his usual composed demeanor. “Is something wrong, Qyzen?”

“Would ask the same.” His single seeing eye focused on her hands. She had one covering the other, as if she meant to hide the place where Erithon’s hand had lingered on hers.

She stiffened, sweeping her hands behind her and clasping them tight. “Nothing’s wrong, Qyzen. Why?”

Qyzen’s only answer was his own question. “When is last time Herald spoke to Yuon Par?”

Perplexed with the apparent change of subject, Aitahea shook her head. “Is that what you’re worried about? It’s been… weeks, I’m afraid. But she’s well; I can sense that much through the shielding.”

“Certain she is, Scorekeeper’s Herald.” The Trandoshan considered her for a long moment. “It is you who are not. Should speak with Yuon. For own sake.”

Aitahea nodded somberly. She glanced over her shoulder just as Erithon paused one final time before he and Jorgan disappeared into the warehouse. The consular closed her eyes and pulled in a deep, slow breath. “I will, Qyzen. I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding a chapter less than two weeks after the last one WHO AM I? Thanks to beta readers Taraum & Satele Squad. Love y'all.


	6. Practical Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erithon earns a scolding.

Erithon gazed through the warehouse doors and into the clear dawn, lost in thought as the teams broke camp and began sorting the last of their gear for transport. They’d go on the offensive today, taking out the Sith and placing House Organa firmly back in power.

The reconnaissance that Aric Jorgan and Qyzen Fess had brought back the previous day had resulted in a late night of strategic planning and plotting. The hours of preparation had left him feeling restless but hopeful. Aitahea and Qyzen had been key, the only ones present with any practical experience fighting Sith. Havoc had almost none. Less common in the field than Jedi, he’d seen fewer than a handful, thankfully at a safe distance.

He knew, logically, that Aitahea was the best-equipped to take on any Sith directly – which was the plan they’d gone with – but he didn’t have to _like_ it. It would be an understatement to call her knowledgeable and skilled; their areas of expertise were wildly different. That’s probably why they worked so well together. They complimented each other, both in the field and off-duty. He knew a good ally when he had one.

But damn if he couldn’t shake this nagging feeling that he wanted her safe and secure somewhere far, far away from this battlefield. Any battlefield. He scowled to himself; it was a stupid thought to have. She was more than capable, and he’d seen it in person. Repeatedly.

He’d have to be content with being at her side instead. And hopefully better focused than he’d been yesterday, recalling their conversation at the cliffs. He might not be a Jedi with the power to read thoughts, but surely, he could tell when a woman was pleased to see him. She’d _said_ as much.

_Come on_, he thought, pushing away from the entryway and back inside to grab another box of gear and hauled it toward the exit with maybe just a little more force than necessary. _Focus._

But she _had_ taken his hand. And allowed him to steady her, close enough to… well. The rocks had been slick and maybe she’d still been woozy from the drugs but she was probably perfectly capable of doing some sort of ridiculous acrobatics and maybe there’d been no danger at all but the way she’d kept her eyes on his had been just… wow.

The expression on her face when he’d said her name out loud, what had _that_ been? For a moment she’d glowed brighter than the Alderaanian sunrise. At least she had for that split second before they’d been interrupted, whatever moment that had been building between them dissipating at the sound of Aric Jorgan’s enormously inconvenient voice. His second hadn’t openly confronted him about it, but the Cathar’s wry expression had said enough. When they’d arrived back at the warehouse, Elara Dorne had quickly interrogated them both about the Jedi’s condition, and before subjecting Aitahea herself to one last examination before she was satisfied.

It was stupid to think about anyway. Nothing would happen. Nothing could happen, for a million reasons, the foremost of which is she’s a Jedi, and even if she didn’t-

“Erithon.”

And there she was, quietly saying his name like it somehow belonged in her everyday vocabulary. He allowed one moment too many to pass, relishing the sound of her voice. “Aitahea,” he replied, enjoying the smile that curved her lips.

“It’s past daybreak. Duke Organa and the others have already left for the palace.” The rest of Aitahea’s crew had messaged, indicating they’d be ready and waiting when they returned – victorious, he hoped – to the castle. The scientist and his electronic assistant weren’t trained medics, but Aitahea had assured everyone they would both be helpful.

Erithon pushed the crate into the transport and secured it. “That’s the last of our gear. Let’s review the mission one last time before we leave for good.” He looked around for his own gear, hauling the cannon over his shoulder and tucking his helmet under the opposite arm.

“Our teams are gathered.” Aitahea had her hood up, probably to ward off some of the chill in the morning air. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink within its shadow, and despite her calm expression, her eyes shone bright. “They’re ready.”

“Then let’s do this.”

The combined Organa and Republic forces were waiting patiently in the growing light. The other members of Havoc chatted quietly, turning to offer quick salutes as Erithon and Aitahea approached.

“Jorgan? One more time.” Erithon tossed a holoprojector to the sergeant, and after an efficient catch, Jorgan brought a detailed map of the adjacent farmland into view.

“Sir. Aurek team will be yourself, the Jedi, and Qyzen Fess. You’ll be covering Master Aitahea as she takes down the apprentices.” As three red symbols flickered to life, Erithon noticed Aitahea’s almost imperceptible flinch at the words ‘takes down’. “They’re indicated at these locations. We’ll cover the rest of the Thul troops and the war droids. Sergeant Dorne will lead the larger Besh group against the soldiers, while Cresh team takes out the droids with me. Any questions?”

Erithon waited, listening to murmurs of readiness and the sound of helmeted heads shaking. “None here,” he said, and when he looked to Aitahea she offered an almost imperceptible smile. “Everyone stay safe; keep your heads. Master Jedi?”

Aitahea swept her gaze over the gathered soldiers and gave them a solemn nod. “May the Force be with us.”

“Let’s move out.”

A few speeders had been loaded with the meager supplies they’d gathered, including medpacks and stims for any wounded, but they’d be quieter on foot, aiming to surprise the enemy camp before it was fully awake and ready to retaliate. The confiscated Thul weapons were now in the hands of the courageous Organa subjects. They lacked the numbers and experience to make it a fairer fight. Nevertheless, Aitahea had insisted that their enemies be slain only if absolutely necessary.

Erithon wasn’t surprised by her plea for mercy. He’d done a little research on her Order when he’d had the time, and it was clear that Aitahea was the kind of Jedi that relied on words and wits more than her lightsaber. He’d seen her both fight and negotiate; she was as proficient a warrior as she was a diplomat. And that wasn’t even bringing into the equation that surreal incident on Taris, what he’d learned was Force healing. He’d meant to ask her about it last night, but by the time they were done strategizing there was no time left for chat.

Before they crested the final rise, Aitahea stopped them, Erithon dropping into a crouch and drawing close to hear her whisper. “Allow the apprentices to focus on me. I can keep myself hidden with the Force somewhat, but I won’t be able to do the same for you. I will handle the Sith.” She sighed and shook her head, worry shadowing her voice. “Keep me safe from any other threats.”

“We’ve got your back.” Erithon’s voice was muffled and mechanical coming through the helmet speaker. He nodded toward Qyzen Fess, hunched behind a fallen log a few yards away.

“There’s the first.”

The Sith apprentice paced restlessly just outside her tent, a human woman no older than Aitahea. Aitahea slipped soundlessly between bits of cover until she was within shouting distance. Erithon crouched at the perimeter, feeling clumsy and bulky in his armor. Aitahea turned when he shifted, signaled for him to wait in cover. He grimaced inside his helmet, and her expression softened to beseeching. _Wait_, she mouthed silently.

Erithon nodded, and Aitahea stole across the dewy grass toward the first target. He scanned her surroundings, but the Jedi edged around the apprentice’s tent unseen. At the last moment, the Sith turned towards Aitahea’s hiding place, but before she could step around the corner, the apprentice collapsed without a sound. Aitahea visibly sagged against the heavy canvas, then lifted her wrist comm to her lips.

“First target neutralized.” Her breathless voice crackled into his ears. “Besh and Cresh teams, proceed. Aurek, let’s find the second.”

The next target was further into the encampment, but the entrance of their soldiers gave them a welcome distraction. The second target was ready and waiting for Aitahea when she strode into view, hands aloft as a shimmer of motion cascaded around her, fading in seconds. The Sith’s golden eyes flickered into ruby as he launched himself at her, igniting his saber once aloft. Erithon had his cannon trained on the enemy, ready to pick him off if he got too reckless with the Jedi.

Aitahea expertly caught the blow on her own saber, keeping her stance but skidding backwards in the dirt under the onslaught. The Sith broke away, leaping back only to come rushing toward her again with unnatural speed. Erithon heard the sizzling clash of lightsaber blades over the growing sound of fighting across the camp.

The Sith significantly outsized Aitahea and was taking advantage of it as he rained blow after blow against her lightsaber, trying to break through her defense with brute strength. Laboriously, Aitahea began to pummel him with debris from the ground between blocking or avoiding his strikes, and he was finally beginning to slow.

After a particularly large rock smashed into his head, he faltered, the barrage of strikes ceasing as he clutched at his bleeding face. Aitahea slipped in close to deliver a deadly strike, and the Sith crumpled to the ground. She remained still for a long moment, her face hidden in the shadow of her hood, until Erithon began to raise his hand to his helmet comm to ask if she was okay.

Before he could speak, she turned and again signaled for Qyzen and Erithon to follow, this time motioning toward the opposite edge of the camp. The final target. She gave them each an austere nod as she spoke into the comm again.

“Target number two neutralized. Aurek is proceeding to target three.”

They scrambled through the swiftly emptying Thul camp toward the final target’s tent, quietly picking off a few stragglers as they crossed paths. The final tent, boldly flying an Imperial banner in the heart of Organa lands, stood isolated from the rest of the camp. Aitahea came to an abrupt stop as they approached, signaling to Erithon and Qyzen to stay back. Erithon scowled as he scanned their surroundings, nothing showing on his sensors.

The last Sith materialized as though from nowhere, bearing down hard on Aitahea’s hastily raised saber just like the last had. She went to one knee, crying out sharply as she dared to take a hand from the hilt and swept a handful of pebbles into her opponent’s face. He snarled in pain and frustration, and when the red blade faltered, Aitahea darted away. With a roar, eyes still streaming, the Sith grasped for Aitahea, despite her being well out of arm’s reach.

Erithon watched in horror as Aitahea stiffened and began rising into the air, realizing with a surge of fury that the Sith was doing it. The Jedi struggled as though his hand clenched around her throat, instead of empty air.

“Hey, over here!” Erithon shouted while adjusting the cannon controls for a grav mine and firing it into the dirt solidly between himself and the Sith. The man grinned maliciously and allowed Aitahea to drop to the dirt, his attention right where Erithon wanted it: on him, not on Aitahea and not on the mine. Aitahea’s eyes were on Erithon, too, even as she struggled to regain her breath, the terror he was feeling reflected in her gaze.

The Sith stepped boldly into range of the mine, but instead of being yanked roughly to where the bomb had been laid, he used the momentum to continue to arch over the gravitational field and land firmly just steps from Erithon. The trooper swore, scrambling for his holdout blaster, the cannon useless at such close range.

“Ah, easy pickings, you Republic soldiers,” the Sith growled. Erithon raised the blaster and fired repeatedly, but the Sith just twitched his lightsaber and sent the blaster bolts flying away. If he could just get in _closer_. Sith couldn’t block a shot-point blank. Can they? Over his opponent’s shoulder, Erithon could see Aitahea on her feet and running for them, one hand pressed to her throat and coughing hard. She stumbled to her knees again, blindly reaching for… the Sith? Or himself?

A ribbon of red light blurring well too close to him bought his attention back to the Sith, and Erithon raised the blaster only to have it sliced in half by a now entirely too-close lightsaber blade. He stumbled back, shaking the remains of the weapon from his hand and watching the glowing saber blur again, this time followed by a shower of sparks and… a very unusual pressure that seemed coming from his chest plate.

“No,” Erithon groaned, his legs failing and sending him to the ground. He fought to stay conscious, but the blue Alderaanian sky was all too swiftly blotted out by darkness.

* * *

Aitahea was unsure how she was able to muster the scream she emitted as the Sith’s blade slashed across Erithon’s chest. She coughed again as she forced herself to her feet and _pushed_.

Busy gloating over what he’d thought was easier prey, the Sith had ignored Aitahea’s recovery and went tumbling away from Erithon’s still form, right into the path of Qyzen Fess. The Trandoshan wasted no time in halting the Sith with a swift and precise strike to the temple while Aitahea raced to reach Erithon.

An ugly gash had been carved right through the trooper’s chest plate and into the flesh beneath. Aitahea dropped to his side, her fingers scrabbling fruitlessly at the seams of his armor, reeling at the acrid odor of metal alloy. _How does it… come off… I have to… Force help me!_ She shouted wordlessly in frustration, desperately yanking his helmet off and cradling his head in both hands.

“Erithon!” she called, unwilling to wait for telltale breath sounds or the feel of his pulse before she enfolded them both in the Force.

Everything else disappeared, suspended in the silence between heartbeats. The only thing Aitahea could see or feel was the man before her. Dimly aware of her fingertips tracing his jawline, she guided her perception through his Force signature. _Focus_. There. The gash wasn’t deep, but a lightsaber wound was traumatic, often inducing shock. She felt her own anguish crash into her like a wave breaking on a rocky shore. Why hadn’t he _listened_ to her?

Sundrenched golden fields, a glitter of sunlight on water… a flicker of shared memory brushed against her consciousness. Aitahea waved them away impatiently. This was more difficult without direct access to the wound and would need all her skill and attention.

“Erithon.”

His eyes remained closed, but she could have sworn his head turned toward her, just a fraction. Hope burst through her like a flame, fueling Aitahea as she drew closed damaged muscle and flesh, fingers trembling where they hovered just against Erithon’s skin.

The sound of Erithon taking a deep breath pulled her back to herself, and with a reluctant sigh, she released her draw on the Force, save for a few subtle threads that entwined Erithon. Time eased into its ordinary flow again.

“Erithon? Are you alright?”

* * *

Erithon opened his eyes more easily than he thought he should be able to, all things considered. He tried blinking next. That worked, too. His ears were working too, he noted, because Aitahea was speaking to him, though it took a few extra seconds to put the sounds back in an order that made sense.

“What were you _thinking_?” The Jedi demanded, her voice hoarse and trembling.

“About doing something heroic.” He squinted up at her, her worried face just inches from his. Aitahea was a little blurry around the edges, but he squinted and a smudge of dirt across her cheek resolved in his vision. Cute. “Did it work?”

“It did not! That was reckless!” Her next breath caught in her throat, and with escalating regret he watched a tear slide down her cheek. “Don’t you ever do something so foolish again,” she breathed, shaking her head and dislodging the unnoticed tear.

He realized with a start that she was cradling his head in her hands. That was pretty nice, too. “I won’t,” he promised, idly wondering where his helmet was. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded before pulling in a deep breath. “I know.” She frowned a little, pinning him with a severe glare. “Now tell me how to get this blasted thing off so I can see what I’ve done.”

_What did she do?_ “Um, here.” Erithon didn’t argue, just levered himself into a sitting position, with Aitahea’s fastidious help, and released the latches on what he realized with a wave of nausea was an extraordinarily damaged chest plate. The Sith’s lightsaber had carved a channel right through the alloy and his tunic beneath, and… well.

The feel of her hands on his skin, pushing aside the scorched cloth, brought his attention soundly back to the present. Aitahea sighed, brows knitted. Erithon tried not to squirm. “There’s a scar after all.” She pressed her palm to his chest, biting at her lower lip, and Erithon dearly wished to know _exactly_ what was causing him to be so lightheaded at that moment. There were just a few too many options for him to sort through. She lifted her eyes to his, and now that his vision was settled again, he was certain there were more tears gathering on her lashes, threatening to spill again.

Now it was Erithon’s turn to take a deep breath, and in the sudden silence he slid his hand over hers. Surely she felt his heart pounding under her palm? “I earned it.”

Aitahea stared at him, lips trembling, for about a handful of those double-time heartbeats. “I-” Her brows arched in sudden realization. “Where’s Qyzen?”

Erithon closed his hand around Aitahea’s while reaching for his blaster – oh wait, the one that was in pieces? Damn. Force knew where his cannon was; he sure didn’t. “Where’s the _Sith_?”

“Here, Herald.” Qyzen called from a few yards away, otherwise silent as he approached. "Mission is successful. Look.” He motioned towards the camp entrance where a flare had just soared into the sky, the bright blue glow contrasting with the warm morning light as it arched and faded out.

“They did it,” Erithon murmured as Aitahea broke into a relieved smile. “Oh.” She looked apologetic as she drew her hand out of his grasp and reached into a belt pouch for their own flare, standing up to raise it aloft.

“Our turn.” Erithon supposed he should have been watching the flare itself. He heard the shouts that went up across the camp, but he found himself too busy watching the play of light across her face. Her hood must have fallen back during the fight, and tendrils of pale hair had escaped from her braid. He wanted to smooth them back into place. He wanted to pick her up, spin her around, and kiss her breathless. Wanted to, certainly would not _actually_ do, he was reminded by his wobbling knees and a burning fatigue that began to set in all too swiftly.

As the last of the gold glow flickered out, he finally stood; from this higher position noticing the bruises that had begun to darken around her throat. He pulled in a breath and drew her close, gloved fingers brushing along her jawline as he turned her head tenderly to one side. “Aitahea…”

“I’ll be fine,” she whispered, catching his hands and drawing them gently down. Her gaze flickered to where Qyzen stood, patiently awaiting orders, and Erithon’s brows leapt up. Their fingers were still entwined. “We need to get back to the castle, take care of the wounded, let these people have their lives again.”

He looked back to her, eyes narrowed in frustration. “You _are_ one of the wounded.”

She lifted her chin high, giving him a significant look as she pulled her hands away from his to pat the singed remains of his tunic. “Speak for yourself.” She raised her hood again, wearing an unreadable expression.

“Aren’t we a pair?”

She glanced sidelong at him from the hood’s shadow, but a smile curled at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes were gentle. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Isn't he just _ridiculous_? Hee!
> 
> Thank you to Taraum and the Thot Patrol for beta reading!


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